


you come around and the armor falls (pierce the room like a cannonball)

by iliveinfantasies



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event [9]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Day 11: huddling for warmth, F/F, Gen, Hicsqueak, Other, ww2018winterfluffchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 12:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: Pippa blinked at Hecate, staring for a moment longer before standing up, leaving her schoolwork at the table, and heading over to the corner where Hecate was huddled.A closer look at the desk told Pippa there there was, in fact, magic there. Stretched between the legs of the table, it appeared to be some kind of barrier; feeble, perhaps, and a bit flickering around the edges, but a barrier, nonetheless. It was an advanced bit of magic, even in its early, uneven stages; far beyond the normal capabilities of a typical first-year. And yet, here it was, pulled between the delicate iron spokes, forming ropes around the legs. Pippa could sense it, if not see it, and the message, she knew, was quite clear: leave me in peace, it said.Pippa ignored it.--Day 11: huddling for warmthpairing: hiqsqueak





	you come around and the armor falls (pierce the room like a cannonball)

**Author's Note:**

> How did this happen? How did this prompt turn into...whatever this is?
> 
> I have no idea, but I hope you all like it. I just gave it a quick edit.
> 
> Here there be angst, but a happy ending, as usual, so it counts! I’m such a sucker for writing Hecate’s trauma.
> 
> I'm very insecure about this one, but it's long, and I put a lot into it, so hopefully it came out.
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr! iliveinfantasylife

SHecate and Pippa had a long, complex history of huddling in dark places.

* * *

Pippa first saw her in a darkened corner at the far end of the library, tucked under a desk, a protective spell flickering between the iron legs.

Pippa had just settled into one of the tables, fully intending to dive directly in to her potions homework, when she paused, halfway through opening her textbook. She squinted at the corner, saw the light sheen of magic glimmering around the edges of a desk, tucked awkwardly into the furthermost corner behind a bookshelf. She frowned.

There, under the desk, dark hair plaited into a heavy braid and fingers clutched tightly around a book, was a girl.

Pippa knew who the girl was, of course: Hecate Hardbroom, a quiet, angular girl who sat in the front row of every class but never said a word. The only other student who was rivaling Pippa for the top of the class. And Hecate somehow edged her out, every single time, in every single class, except for chanting. There, Pippa eked out a steady edge on Hecate, though she had a strong suspicion that the only reason that was the case was because Hecate hardly ever spoke.

Pippa was the sort of girl who was ruled by curiosity; as such, she found Hecate to be a bit of an enigma. A puzzle that she couldn’t quite figure out, the sort of girl who sat, by herself, in dark corners of the library on Friday nights at 11 pm, when the other girls in their year were planning their weekend huddles, and swapping stories.

Pippa, herself, had only just extricated herself from such a gathering the hour before; she liked her fellow students at Amulet’s, but often found that their conversations grew vapid, quickly, their sentiments slipping from school and spells straight into boys, instead.

Pippa found this somewhat impressive, given that there _were_ no boys at Amulet’s, but nonetheless not a particularly interesting line of conversation. So she had excused herself, her interests lying instead in passing her exam the coming week, and slipped quietly to the library.

Pippa had always wanted to speak to Hecate, thought that, given the time to get to know each other, they might be friends; wanted to know the words behind her eyes and impassive gazes, always at work, it seemed, behind the silence. But Hecate was an elusive girl, spending a good portion of her time in her rooms, only coming out for meals (and sometimes forgetting those, too), her familiar, Morgana, weaving sleekly between Hecate’s heels as she walked.

Pippa blinked at Hecate, staring for a moment longer before standing up, leaving her schoolwork at the table, and heading over to the corner where Hecate was huddled.

A closer look at the desk told Pippa there there was, in fact, magic there. Stretched between the legs of the table, it appeared to be some kind of barrier; feeble, perhaps, and a bit flickering around the edges, but a barrier, nonetheless. It was an advanced bit of magic, even in its early, uneven stages; far beyond the normal capabilities of a typical first-year. And yet, here it was, pulled between the delicate iron spokes, forming ropes around the legs. Pippa could sense it, if not see it, and the message, she knew, was quite clear: _leave me in peace,_ it said.

Pippa ignored it.

She sat down next to the desk and peered inward. “Hullo,” she said. “That’s quite an advanced bit of magic, there.” Pippa chastised her mouth, a little, always rushing ahead of her mind. _Slow down,_ her mum had told her, nearly every day before coming to school. _Your mind is working a mile a minute, and your mouth is two steps ahead of that._ It was hardly a way to start a conversation, jumping in like that, let alone a friendship with a girl who seemed as skittish as a cat, herself; but the only indication that Hecate gave that she saw Pippa at all was a brief flick of her eyes away from her book, toward the space Pippa was perched.

They sat in silence for so long that Pippa was beginning to think that Hecate couldn’t hear her behind the barrier, when a quiet voice said, “Not advanced enough, it would seem.”

The voice was rough and gritty, like stone, the cadence just a little stilted, as though the voice was not often used.

Pippa’s eyes widened, a little, in surprise, and she cocked her head to one side. “Well, you’re twelve,” Pippa pointed out, mildly. “I should hardly think you’d be an expert at any of this, yet.”

Hecate’s face slipped into a brief expression of distaste, as though being far too young for the spell was hardly an excuse, but she didn’t respond.

Pippa tapped the barrier gingerly with one finger, yanking it back when the barrier sent tiny tingling sparks down her arms. Then, she tapped it again, this time with a fingernail.

Hecate looked at her more fully, now, raising an eyebrow. “Stop that,” she said, her voice stern and hoarse. “It tickles.”

Pippa’s face widened into a small grin, but she tucked her hand into her lap, instead. “I’m Pippa.”

Hecate blinked, face still blank. “I know.”

Pippa’s eyebrows shot up. “You know that?”

Hecate fixed her eyes on Pippa’s, and it felt a bit like being stared at by the sky itself, vast and dark and glittering and full of unknowable things.

“You are Pippa Pentangle,” she said, flatly. “Of course I know.”

Something shuddering and surprising sparked in Pippa’s chest, something quite unlike anything she’d experienced before, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to categorize it. So she ignored it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, curiously, and Hecate turned back to her book, a little pointedly.

“Reading,” she said, and Pippa peered at the cover of the book. Her eyes widened. “All gods, Hecate, you’re reading _that?_ Is that even allowed?”

Hecate didn’t look up, though a small frown pinched her face. “I haven’t the slightest,” she said, eyes still fixed on the pages, and with a note of finality.

Pippa was undeterred. “I meant, what are you doing _here,_ and not in your _rooms?”_

Hecate sighed, a quick, quiet puff of air. “It’s loud in my rooms. They are in the hallway with all of the. Other. Girls.” The way Hecate said _other girls,_ with such clear, unfiltered distaste, had Pippa’s mouth twitching up at the corners.

Pippa cocked her head, twisting at a loose thread on her school jumper. “Why not cast a silencing spell, then? I know you can,” she added, almost challengingly.

Hecate sighed, again, more deeply this time, and her frown deepened even further. “Fine,” she said, and the word was a flat, grey ice in the air. “I find the library. Soothing. A. Good place to. Be, and read.”

Pippa couldn’t help the grin that overtook her face, now. “You don’t have to say it all _resentful,_ ” she said, stifling a laugh. “That’s what the library is _for,_ isn’t it?”

Hecate didn’t respond, but the frown flitted off her face, replaced with something that could maybe, _almost_ pass for amusement, if Pippa squinted her eyes.

“I suppose,” said Hecate, a little dubious.

Pippa shifted herself so that she was pressed more fully against the wall, and stretched out her legs. “And I suppose,” she said, “that I will use the library for just that.”

Before Hecate could respond, Pippa summoned her textbook, her parchment, and her bag from where they were sitting at the table, and settled the book on her lap.

If Hecate was surprised at Pippa’s ability to already do a summoning spell--a spell they weren’t to learn for another year, at least--she didn’t show it. Rather, she leaned back against the wall of the corner, and turned the page in her book.

“If you must,” she said, but she didn’t send Pippa away, and Pippa considered that progress.

They sat there, huddled in the corner, reading, until the rich darkness of the night faded, and a pinkish hue licked at the edges of the window panes.

Pippa glanced over at Hecate as the bright glow peeked in, dancing shadows over her eyes, setting the sharpness of her face alight. The girl was the oddest, most temperamental 12-year-old she’d ever met. Hecate glanced up too, meeting Pippa’s eyes, and the corner of her mouth twitched, briefly.

Something sharp and light exploded in Pippa’s chest. Something far, far more than there should have been for a mere crook of lips, an _almost_ smile. But Pippa knew, right then, felt it radiating like sound deep, deep into her bones, that she and Hecate were going to be friends.

* * *

 

She was six, again, and pressed firmly into a corner of a deep, darkened closet. The brick of the walls dug into her hips, the dark, shadowy figure looming over her as she pressed herself further, made herself as small as possible, forcing herself to take up as little space as she could; as far away from the figure as she could be. _“Hecate,”_ the figure barked out, his voice sharp, uneven low. He bounded into the space, reaching for her with large, manicured hands—

Hecate jerked herself sharply, swiftly awake.

Her breathing was heavy, cloying; her heart pounding roughly, unevenly in her chest.

She was shaking horribly, despite the warm of the evening, and she could still feel the darkness, pressing in like water into her lungs, resting on her eyelids; still felt the sharp, stern hands slapping angry red marks across her skin.

She let out a long shudder, then stopped, a cold, hard jolt of fear washing over her entire body as her door swung quietly open, creaking just a little on its hinges.

 _He’s here,_ the irrational, irritating part of her mind hissed, pressing the fear like fire into her heart.

A thin figure appeared in the doorway, candle flickering flames in the darkness.

Hecate blinked, the fear slowly ebbing out through her veins. “Pip?” she asked, still shaking, just a little, her rough, quiet voice still over-loud in the dark.

The figure nodded, hesitated for just a moment, before pressing herself into the room. A flick of her fingers behind her pulled the door quickly, silently shut. Pippa shuffled over to the edge of Hecate’s bed, and Hecate pressed herself up to sitting. Pippa’s face was illuminated in lights, the warm flicker of the candle flames juxtaposing sharply with the blue of the moonlight, and she looked imaginary, almost, ethereal. Pippa bit her lip, hovering, her eyes unreadable.

“Hey there, Hiccup,” she breathed, softly, reaching to tuck a strand of wild hair behind Hecate’s ear.

Hecate shuddered at the touch, a warmth spreading quickly throughout her body from where Pippa had touched her. She looked away, embarrassment seeping swiftly into her bones.

“Hey,” said Pippa’s voice, a little more sternly, now, “None of that.” She put the candle down on Hecate’s nightstand and blew it out, the sharp scent of smoke penetrating the air.

She pulled back the covers and pressed herself in next to Hecate, her soft hands scrambling to find Hecate’s in the dark.

Hecate sucked in a quick, shallow breath, her pulse beating odd, erratic rhythms in her veins.

“Why--” Hecate’s throat caught around the word, and she coughed, a little, before Pippa interrupted her.

“I just had a sense,” Pippa said, voice low and far, far too soft. “Plus,” she added, throwing Hecate a _look_ that Hecate could sense even in the dark, “You’ve been getting nightmares for years, darling. It didn’t take an expert.”

Hecate’s huffed, her cheeks flushing, deeply, then paling. Pippa pressed herself closer, the thin, material of her nightgown rubbing against Hecate’s own. It wasn’t the first time that Pippa had climbed into Hecate’s bed--rather, they’d done that, off on on, since their first year at Amulet’s, when Pippa arrived at Hecate’s door, in much the same manor, and said she couldn’t sleep. It also wasn’t the first time that Pippa had interrupted a nightmare--Hecate had nightmares often, and regularly, and there had been several occasions in the past where Hecate had woken, flailing and half-shouting, to Pippa’s arms wrapped around her and murmured reassurances (“ _Shh, Hiccup, you’re okay,”_ ) in Hecate’s ear, the warmth coiling into her stomach and pressing out the iciness of the dreams.

It was, however, the first time that Pippa had shown up on her own _just in case_ Hecate was having a nightmare.

And that was something somehow terrifying and incredible, all at once.

“You didn’t. Have to--” Hecate began, pressed the words, awkward and stilting, through her clenched teeth, but Pippa held up a hand to stop her.

“I know I didn’t have to, Hiccup,” she said, quickly, firmly, her breath blowing hot over Hecate’s cheeks. “But you’re my best friend, and I’m cold, and you’re sad. So here I am, and that’s how it’s going to be.” Her tone held an edge of finality, that stubbornness and obstinance that was so, so Pippa. Hecate couldn’t help but smile, just a little, in the dark.

Pippa tugged Hecate down with her until they were lying centimetres apart, face to face, in Hecate’s bed. One of Pippa’s hands rested gently on Hecate’s ribs, drawing small, soothing patterns there, and Hecate felt the bones there prinkle, buzzing with something warm and comforting and light.

Normally, Hecate wouldn’t have given in so easily; wouldn’t have let herself do something so indulgent, so...so _weak,_ so telling and open, with all her fears and insecurities on display in bright, vibrant color.

But then...but then, she was tired, so tired, and Pippa was so warm against her side, and everything felt clean and right and _Pippa_ . So instead of turning away, of pushing Pippa aside and demanding that she was _fine, thank you very much_ , she allowed herself this, this one thing, this one, small indulgence that she normally wouldn’t have allowed if not for her exhausted state.

Hecate suspected that Pippa knew that, too.

A blast of air from her open window hit her, and a sharp, just-too-clear vision of her dream flashed into her mind. She flinched, she raised her hand to flick it toward the window.

The window slammed shut, a bit more forcefully than she’d intended, and a soft, shimmering light made its way across slowly from one end of the window frame. It came to a halt on the other side, and despite Hecate’s pressing, despite her repeated spark-showers sent in its direction, the magic remained firmly, solidly stretched across the frame. Hecate gritted her teeth, a vague frustrated breath pressing out through her lips, an irritation pressing firmly into the corners of her mind.

Pippa glanced over, and raised an eyebrow at Hecate. “You’ve gotten much better at the barrier spell,” she murmured, and Hecate huffed.

“Not good enough yet, it seems.”

“You’re fifteen, Hiccup,” said, Pippa, gently. “I should hardly think that you’d be an expert at this, yet.”

A fast, jolting memory flickered into her mind. _Well, you’re twelve. I should hardly think you’d be an expert at any of this, yet._ She flicked her eyes up to Pippa’s in the dark, seeing the mirth dancing there, and knew Pippa was remembering, too. Hecate rolled her eyes, a small, vague smile tugging her her lips, and Pippa broke out into a grin before wrapping her arms around Hecate and pulling her in close to her chest.

Hecate’s breath caught. The warmth, the sweet, honeysuckle and primrose scent that made up _Pippa,_ was settling in over her skin, folding itself into her chest, her lungs. It was intoxicating, almost, and she felt herself falling, swiftly, into a fast, silent sleep.

“Go on, now, Hiccup,” murmured Pippa’s voice from far, far away. “Go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Hecate murmured back, already falling into darkness, and then, just the tinkling of an afterthought, a secret, quiet thing that whispered its way into her mind on the way down: _I love you._

* * *

 

Pippa threw her broom into the corner, pink petals flying across the floor, twigs snapping against the wall.

She stood still, for a moment, fingers clutched into fists, nails biting harshly into her skin. She began to shake, just a little, and pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes slipping shut, and let out a rough sob.

Hecate, _her Hecate,_ was gone.

She fell onto the bed, curling into herself, and pressed her wet face into the fabric of her dress;silent and shaking, harsh, rough angles of her heart pressing shards into her lungs, there she huddled, cold and empty, in the dark.

Two hours later, she got up. She washed her face, put on a pink dress, and glanced over at the windows.

She flicked her hands, murmuring, and pressed a barrier spell between the sills. In her head she heard Hecate’s voice, sharp and clear: _not good enough yet, it seems._

She grabbed her pencil, opened her books, and began to study.

* * *

 

The fingers were a vice grip around her wrists. The nails dug deep rivets there, deepening, clamping, until red tinted the space beneath their surfaces.

 _“Focus.”_ The voice was a hiss, a deep, tinny thing, like an old record playing.

She always heard it all around her, here. The figure of Broomhead loomed, as always, in the shadows; magic ebbed off her in waves, pressing in, filling Hecate’s lungs with her magic like smouldering ash. But she made her voice _everywhere_ here.

From the cracks in the corners to the very air in her lungs, the voice echoed, reverberating off the walls in dissonant patterns, coming to a sharp stop once they reached Hecate’s heart.

Hecate gritted her teeth, wincing as the hand let go and the nails slid out from her skin, and tried again. She could feel the edges of the spell sitting, buzzing, at the corners of her mind, just out of her reach.

She tugged at it, forced her way in, sharpened her magic like a needle and felt around inside herself to peel back the layers gathered there. She attempted to pull them away, force them to cater to her will, but the spell pulled back, slippery and fleeting, bounding, once again, out of her sights.

 _“Clumsy,”_ the voice said into the air. “ _Far too sloppy for a girl of your capacity.”_

Then Pippa’s voice, clear and sudden, inside her head. _You’re eighteen, Hiccup. I should hardly think that you’d be an expert at this, yet._

The blow to her chest was harsh, and tight, Pippa’s voice sweet and smooth and warm in her ears, even after these last years. Something tugged at her, something horrid and ashy and bitter, and she felt her lungs collapse, her ribs pressing in on themselves.

 _“I can feel you falling away,”_ the voice said, magic wrapping itself around her waist like fingers, delicately trailing up her back. “ _You. Must. Be. Better.”_

“ _No.”_ the voice that echoed from Hecate was not her own, was not one she recognized, not one she knew.

She felt it before she saw it: the magic simmering under her skin, just below the surface, growing and pressing and forming a bubble all around her until it expanded, roughly, exploding into the air.

The hands were gone, for the first time in three years, the tendrils of magic forced away in sharp defiance.

Magic was what she knew. Discipline was what she knew. Books and spells and chants and potions and long, crooked fingers hooking themselves around all of the parts of herself she liked to keep hidden.

But not like this. Not anymore.

Not ever again.

She walked out, the barrier spell sitting around her shoulders like a cloak, and made her way, slowly, slowly, to her rooms.

Her legs trembled the last few feet to her door. She couldn’t transfer and keep up the barrier spell at the same time, and she almost found herself regretting her decision.

 _Weak,_ the phantom voice said in her head. _Foolish._

She shook her head, desperately, as her legs finally gave in. She crumpled, sharply, to the ground.

Her ankle ached fiercely, as though she’d twisted it on the way down, and her skin burned hot against the cold of her bones. Her knees were set at an odd angle, the way they’d been when she fell, and her ribs felt bruised, and broken.

But she was here, and she was free, she lay there, exhausted, huddled into herself in the dark.

* * *

 

She should have known, really, that it would happen sooner or later; they were both in academia, after all, both in high up positions at highly regarded schools (now, anyway, despite the tremors that the founding of Pentangle’s Academy had sent throughout the magical community). She should have known that, sooner or later, they’d have to face each other in a space more intimate than a conference.

And when Pippa had come to _her_ school, in _her_ life, in _her_ classroom, she had told herself that it didn’t matter. That it _wouldn’t_ matter.

That it _couldn’t_ matter.

But she hadn’t been prepared for _this._ Hadn’t been prepared for Pippa, here, now, standing right there, next to her in the room.

Hadn’t prepared herself for the way Pippa’s eyes still lit up when she thought of something particularly clever, the way the scents of honeysuckle and primrose still penetrated the room everywhere she went.

It made Hecate ache.

It made Hecate want to turn, and press her lips to Pippa’s own, and give it all away.

Do something that, after all this time, she had absolutely no right to do.

So instead, she flicked her fingers, lightly, the barrier spell spilling out of them and up, around, encompassing her body.

The spell felt warm and a little comforting, now, like a well-worn cloak she never quite wanted to take off.

And she hated herself for it. Hated herself for the use of it, here. Hated herself for the use of it anywhere, for depending on it, for needing, _needing_ to put a barrier, there between herself and Pippa, lest she leave even more broken, and aching, and wanting than she’d began.

Lest she let Pippa know how she felt.

“Mildred said Miss Cackle wanted to see me,” said Pippa, her voice overly calm, her gaze just a little bit too impassive.

Hecate sucked in a breath, and looked down, grimacing just a little. “That’s funny,” she said, flatly. “She said the same to me.”

Pippa smiled, a little wanly, and let out a small chuckle. “I’ve got a feeling someone’s been playing a trick on us.”

Hecate looked down at her feet, her dress, the ground. Anywhere but Pippa, anywhere but…

“It would appear so,” she said, pursing her lips.

Pippa bit her lip, “I should probably tell you that I’ve offered Mildred a scholarship.”

Hecate’s eyes widened, just a little, before softening, slightly, into something just a little too open, a little too a her stomach shooting sharp jolts into her chest. Because of course, Pippa would have. Of course Pippa, who founded an entire school based on oddballs and modern magic  would have seen her, the absolute mess of a girl, of a _witch_ , that she was, and attempt to adopt her into her group of odd ducks.

 _Like you were, once,_ said a sharp, needling part of her brain.

She fought to not close her eyes.

Pippa watched Hecate’s face, carefully, and Hecate saw the uncertainty there, the discomfort lying below the surface. “Is that the time?” she said, her voice far too airy, too light. “I’ve got a long flight ahead of me.”

Pippa turned away, toward the door, and Hecate looked away.

 _It’s better this way,_ she told herself as Pippa braced a hand on the door. _It’s better if we dont--_

Pippa turned around to face Hecate, her eyes angry and afraid and just a little desperate. It sent a cold, sharp shock through Hecate’s heart.

“You were my best friend, Hecate,” Pippa said, and years of frustration and heartbreak lingered there, coating her words. “And then suddenly, you stopped talking to me. Why?”

Hecate stood stock still for a moment, panic pressing in from all sides. She heard the words not spoken between Pippa’s own: _you abandoned me. You left me._ Hecate closed her eyes for a long, long moment before answering. _Because I loved you. Because you deserve so, so much better than me. Because I don’t deserve someone like you. Because I couldn’t take the heartbreak of you deciding you didn’t want me, anymore._

“You were the popular one,” she said, blowing out the words like ice into the air. “You didn’t want me getting in your way.”

A half truth, at best, but it was a truth.

_It’s better this way._

Pippa turned her head, smiling sadly, frustration and exasperation painting her features. “I didn’t care about those silly witches,” she said, and her eyes were open, now, watching Hecate fully. “You were the only one I wanted to be friends with.”

Hecate stared out at the cobblestones, chest hammering, mouth working to form the words caught in her throat. She sucked in a breath. “But I thought--”

“What,” said Pippa, her voice a little angry now. “Because you were the tall, gangly one, I’d rather spend time with them?”

Hecate didn’t answer; couldn’t answer. She felt as though butterflies were caught in her chest, her heart, her brain, and she couldn’t hear herself think against the dull roaring.

“All this time we’ve spent hating each other,” Pippa said, and Hecate had to stop from wincing.

_I never hated you. Never, never--_

“I’ve missed you, Hiccup.” PIppa’s voice broke, just slightly, on the last word, her face crumbling just a little as she spoke.

The current forming in Hecate’s chest crested, crested, and broke, sending long, shuddering waves throughout her veins.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Hecate said, forcing the words out past the dryness in her throat, “Pipsqueak.”

Hecate’s face crumpled fully, now, the barrier spell along with it.

Pippa lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Hecate, tight, tight, and it felt swiftly and sharply like coming home.

Honeysuckle and primrose overwhelmed, now, Pippa’s touch sending shocks down her spine.

The stood there, huddled together just slightly, pressing themselves into each other in the vastness of the room, their hearts beating rhythms in sync.

* * *

For all of its newness, and a much as Pippa believed in things like technology and electric heating, Pentangle’s was surprisingly drafty.

“I should think,” said Hecate mildly when Pippa came to get her from the empty entrance hall, “That a witch of your capacity would know how to heat up their own school.”

Hecate didn’t say that she was colder, now, than she’d ever been before.

She didn’t say that the ice had filled every inch of her with something dark, and terrifying, and far, far too harsh; something that’s slipped through her system, heavy and cloying, and straight in to her bones.

She didn’t say that it still got to her, now, when the wind was just a little too high and the snow fell just a little too thick and ice formed crystals on all the windows.

But Pippa, of course, being Pippa, saw straight through her.

Just as she had when they were twelve.

Just as she had when they were fifteen.

And just as she had, all those months ago, when they’d started back up the stilted, careful beginnings of their friendship.

Pippa ignored the ribbing, eyes slipping into something just a little too soft for Hecate’s comfort, and fixed her with a long stare. She reached up to tuck a piece of loose hair--knocked out of its careful bun by the wind--behind Hecate’s ear. “I know you’re frozen, darling,” she said, leaning in and pressing her lips gently to Hecate’s cheek, “But you won’t be forever.”

Hecate flushed, the ice in her bones cracking, just a little, and stood, unmoving in the hallway. The place where Pippa had brushed her lips against Hecate’s cheek burned, a little, a bright, tingling sensation working its way under her skin, filtering into her veins.

Pippa rested a light hand on Hecate’s arm, and to transferred them both to her quarters.

They settled onto the couch, the fire shooting tiny, fluttering sparks over the surface of the hearthstones, embers burning down into ash.

“Was the flight difficult?” asked Pippa, and Hecate, opening her mouth to answer, couldn’t help her eyes flicking, however briefly, to the snow pelting the windows.

Pippa watched her, eyes sharpening, and before Hecate could actually respond, she flicked a hand toward the window.

The snow stopped pelting the window, sliding instead around, over, to the side, like a warped sheet of glass. Hecate’s eyes widened, and whatever answer she’d been planning to give caught in her throat with her breath.

There, from Pippa’s hand, in Pippa’s own fresh, sparking magic, a barrier spell.

A barrier spell, perfect in its execution, meant to keep out the snow, and the ice, and the frost.

To keep away the things Hecate was afraid of.

Hecate’s heart cracked, sharply, in her chest, her breath catching quickly, quickly in her lungs. She turned her eyes toward Pippa’s, and Pippa stared back, her eyes bright and open and just a little fierce, like the sky spinning the edges of evening into night; like looking into a fire in the moments before it ignited.

Hecate was overcome with something long, and indescribable; something she’d been sending, been feeling since the very first day Pippa had made her way over to her in the shadows, in the library corner.

She didn’t know what to say, how to say it, what to do, until suddenly, suddenly, she was pressing her lips carefully, desperately, to Pippa’s own.

Pippa let out a sharp inhale against Hecate’s lips, and cupped a hand around Hecate’s cheek, pulling her in deeper.

Hecate stiffened just slightly, the force of what she was doing hitting her all at once, and she pulled back, breaking them apart, panting just a little.

“I’m. Sorry--” Hecate breathed out, stilted, panic lacing every single syllable.

She was sure, now, that Pippa would push her away, that she’d undone every carefully crafted sentence and soft, gentle reconnection of themselves they’d reformed over the last few months, that—

Pippa pressed a firm, gentle hand to Hecate’s arm.

“No, Hiccup,” she said, voice quiet, so, so quiet in the air. “I can feel you overthinking this, from here, and...” she trailed off, swallowed, tried again. “But you’re okay. We. We’re okay. Hiccup, I. Yes.”

Hecate caught on the ends of Pippa’s words and pulled, tugged their meaning through her skin and into her soul, trying, trying to believe that this was real, that this was actually, truly something that could be happening, now.

That this, that them, whole and beautiful and quiet and still, could actually, truly, Finally, be real.

She shook her head, unable to speak, and they both leaned in for another kiss at the same time, bumping noses in the process.

They pulled back, Hecate’s cheeks flushed, and Pippa let out a light laugh.

“Well, it’s been thirty years in the making,” Pippa said, mischief dancing gleefully in her eyes. “I should hardly think you’d be an expert at any of this, yet.”

Hecate’s heart flew, leapt, and a small, small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Pippa,” she whispered, but Pippa just reached over, gently, pulling Hecate’s once again into her chest, Hecate’s head directly over her heart.

They sat there, silent, warm and solid and soft and _them_ , two hearts beating, huddled against each other, in the dark.


End file.
